


Red.

by saechan



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Azula (Avatar)-centric, Character Study, Introspection, Pyromania, Pyrophilic!Azula, Slight Pyrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saechan/pseuds/saechan
Summary: Yet,What do we fade from, if not from colors?
Kudos: 10





	Red.

Staring at the spreading flames as they swallow every inch of all matter that lays itself prey to them (all-consuming, mighty, untouchable), the tiny, glowing embers flicking up into oblivion as the once vivacious neighborhood burns into extinction, she thinks on the color they call ‘red’. 

The small height she is perched upon is just appropriate to make the sight of a piece of wood glowing a dull red just before it burns its life-span out (and into ashes) as rapturously beautiful as it allows the putrid stench of burning flesh and organs pleasingly hit her nostrils. Just perfect. Just what she needed.

She  _ revels _ in watching things burn. It's the most beautiful sight she has seen in this fickle and fleeting thing they call ‘life’.

She  _ loves _ the red things turn right before they burn out completely. As if they are bleeding their wasteful existence out. As if trying to glow and  _ live _ even as they decay. Pathetic. And amusing.

Red speaks of passion, they say. Red screams bravery and assertion, aggression and attention, lust and desire. Red never whispers. Red bellows power _._

She loathes it. 

She loathes how the color wraps around her body and complements her skin. She loathes the eyes she demands and the heads that turn when she flaunts that color (she loathes how she _revels_ in the attention), she loathes the false sense of regalia and the barbaric prudence it allows filthy low-lives to bathe in.

She loathes how much she loves it. 

She  _ hates  _ how  _ fulfilling  _ it is to see the red of blood splatter out and stain every plane, every wall, every canvas, every soul in its vicinity. How  _ ecstatic _ she feels to watch it flow, flow, flow, down the stairs, roll along the ground, surround and stain her toes and  _ flow, flow, flow,  _ even further beyond, like beautiful syrupy sangria. How it sprays onto her body and face and her  _ existence  _ after the swipe of the blade across an artery. How the droplets feel (warm yet cold, pleasantly tingling as they hit her skin and  _ flow _ downwards).

Most of all, she  _ despises _ how infinitely she loves every tiny bit of red in a fire. In the dying embers, the burn-out objects, the  _ ending _ of a blazing flame— the speeding-up of her heartbeat—

The feeling it creates at the pit of her stomach (uncontainable, unparalleled)—

The heat  _ exploding _ throughout her body, so  _ intense _ , in her veins and within her very soul—

She _loves_ the color Red. She loves the hell it represents. She loves the _her_ it whispers (yes, whispers). 

  
  


(What does she fade into then? Black? Nothing? Or the blackened, ashened nothing things burn into?) 

  
  
  
  


(Yet, 

“What do we fade from, if not from colors?”)

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to feed my obsession with fire, red and women. Who better a candidate than Azula.


End file.
